Outlaws of Love
by Madame Rhea Di'Ey
Summary: Hinata is an orb of light, a smudge of color on the grayscaled painting of their lives; Itachi is a walking mystery spot, and Kisame is just a man with too many sins for whom life went wrong since day one. [A forever ongoing collection of drabbles & one shots for the ItaHinaKisa triangle. If you didn't think you needed this in your life, you were very, very wrong. ]
1. a devil for every angel

**Title: **a devil for every angel**  
Prompt: **#57 (Light) & #82 (Dark)  
**Summary: **Kisame muses on the three of them. He does that a lot, poor blueman.**  
Warnings: **None, really. Except, er, a bit of language. But that's a given.**  
Notes: **So I found myself a prompt sheet and started some summer madness. Why do I never work on already started projects and just bury myself in _more_? Dammit.  
**Note2: **Bane is my derp lab rat. You all can call him that, now.

* * *

Kisame thinks a lot about three things: Itachi, Hinata, and violence.

(Okay, four things – he also thinks quite a lot about food.)

He thinks of Itachi when the sky goes black and the moon fades to red, on those first minutes of the first full moon; he thinks of him when he sees an ink stain, when a crow perches itself on a nearby branch, when a fire hums quietly as it burns away the wood it is sustained by. He thinks of Itachi when he drinks tea and when he cleans Samehada's wiggly blades, when he sees oil stains and fresh vegetables in a marketplace.

He thinks of Hinata when the sky turns lavender at dawn and at sunset, when the sun fades from view and the light it leaves behind turns gold to violet with clumsy brush strokes; he thinks of her whenever he sees water – and he sees water _a lot –,_ when eagles and sparrows cry in the sky, when a river whispers sweet things in his ear. He thinks of Hinata when he eats his breakfast (because few things in this world come as close to paradise as her cooking) and when he patches himself up after a battle, one open wound at a time; when he sees flowers, whether they are wild violets or roses with pedigree, and when he picks up berries on a whim.

Yes – it's safe to say these two plague his thoughts a lot.

Seeing them one next to the other is like seeing two stars burn side by side. They are bright, so bright, and their radiance makes his heart and lungs burn with a sweet sort of fire.

_They are light, _he thinks, _and I am darkness. What am I even doing here, next to them?_

(He finds the answer to that question every time someone thinks it's a good idea to try and slit Hinata's throat – or worse, grope her – or attempt to sneak up on Itachi _motherfucking _Uchiha. Kisame's left with a fresh layer of blood on his hands, and he finds, every time, that he doesn't quite mind. He's got enough sins, anyway, and there's gotta be a demon to look after every angel – and he's big enough a man to look after two.)

"Kisame-san?"  
"Hm?"  
"What would you like for breakfast?"  
"Whatever you wanna cook, Hinata-san."


	2. under this sky we stand as one

**Title: **under this sky we stand as one  
**Prompt: **#15 (Moon)  
**Summary: **Everybody has a happy place, even monsters who can only long for heaven; their happy place is anywhere, so long as they get to be together beneath the sky.**  
Warnings: **N/A**  
Notes: **I don't know what my feelings are doing but, argh, it's kinda warm inside my chest.

* * *

It's a quiet night, and Hinata brews tea in a brass pot beneath the open sky.

The stars are alive in the midnight satin above her; glittering diamonds that carve an erratic path to and fro the full moon that shines like a huge ball of white light at the very center. They're somewhere on the outskirts of a thick pine forest up in the mountains, and a downward plain stretches out at her feet – it's a very picturesque setting, soothing in its' seeming endlessness, a sea of green spewed beneath one of blue-black.

The moon twinkles quietly, its' ivory aura pulsating gently as waves of radiation bathe it in white.

Hinata hums, waiting for the sugary water to boil properly. This is nothing like making tea the traditional, _proper _way – but it will taste absolutely delicious when she will be done, and she's grown out of the formal stiffness ages ago.

She stares at the moon, wrapped up in Kisame's huge cloak, the lullaby beneath her tongue wafting in the air around the three of them; Itachi had stolen one of the dango sticks she had stored for occasions like this and was nibbling on it contentedly, staring into the crimson flames of the fire lost in his own thoughts.

A sudden gust of wind washes over the field, rustling the tall blades of grass and perturbing the crickets that find home at their bases. They begin to sing, awakened from the summer time stupor, and their serenade makes Hinata smile. She takes the pot off of the fire with a gloved hand, mindful of a few tender scars in her palm, and proceeds to wrap up the enjoyably tedious process.

When she is done, she pours three cups, and snuggles up into Kisame's broad frame. Instinctively, the man drapes an arm around her waist and it's a warm, reassuring sort of weight to bear.

They sip the tea in silence, watching the few clouds that mar the sky float beneath the moon and turn silver under its' gleam; they cast shadows on the plain, long fluffy patches that drag themselves across invisible lines. Itachi lets his head drop in her lap when he is done drinking his share, one hand sneaking up on her knee to tangle with hers.

(Morning finds Kisame sprawled on the grass on his own cloak with Hinata partly curled into him and Itachi's head nestled on her stomach. The sun hides quickly behind a hill, wrapped in clouds, and lets them slumber on – they deserve to breathe in and let days pass, from time to time.)


End file.
